


When War Comes

by DigUpTheBones_ButLeaveTheSoulAlone



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Mix of book and show elements, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Skagos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-09 07:24:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10406913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DigUpTheBones_ButLeaveTheSoulAlone/pseuds/DigUpTheBones_ButLeaveTheSoulAlone
Summary: Alys approaches her with heavy feet, but her face is even without any hint of fear. She is serene, as she approaches Eydis, but Eydis is careful to watch her for any sort of reaction.“I’m to marry Magnar Sigorn of Thenn.” Eydis gives a short nod. She looks over to the man who approaches Tormund stiffly. Tormund’s smirking though and Sigorn looks back at Alys. And she sees it: fear, uncertainty, and she almost smiles.“He’s afraid of you,” she says to Alys. Alys looks up, straight at Eydis, and then to Sigorn. She steels herself, and smiles. His gaze flickers, but he won't turn away from her either.“Let him be afraid of me.” Sigorn gives a jerking nod and turns away, and Tormund pulls him into a clapping hug, laughing loud enough to scare a nearby horse.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Where in Rickon and Osha do go to Skagos, and the devout followers of the Old Gods do believe Winter is coming. Lady Eydis Magnar leads men to Sansa and Jon's cause, and Rickon lives to become King.
> 
> This has multiple POVs, but consistently the Skagosi Lady, Eydis. It also has multiple blossoming relationships.
> 
> It's a canon-divergence mostly, where Sansa and Jon have only been able to recruit Houses Mormont, Hornwood, and Mazin. The Free Folk will fight as well, but House Magnar arrives with Rickon, who has recruited them. Alys is with them as well. 
> 
> Tags will be updated as the story moves along, as well as relationship tags.

When War Comes

Chapter One

 

_ Lady Eydis Magnar _

Eydis eyes Alys with wary eyes. The horse beneath her was near dead, and the furs she had given her seemed to do little in terms of warming the thin, gaunt girl. Alys flickered her gaze towards Eydis again and let out a trembling smile. 

“You have to look strong, and sure,” Eydis says, voice rolling softly in a way that the Skagos people spoke. It was rough, when angered, punching, but their words seemed to roll together lazily when they spoke with ease. “Despite your thought you might wed Jon Snow, it’s just as likely you’ll marry a’wildling.” She says. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Alys swallow and steel herself. “They want strong women.”

“W-what will it be like?” Eydis shrugs.

“Suppose they’ll be like all men. Different in some ways, similar in others. But they steal their women. They expect fight too, pushing, shoving.” She looks back at the black haired girl and grimaces. “Some could be rough. Others soft. Depends on the man they want you to marry. It’s their customs you should worry about, not who you’ll marry. No matter the man, he won’t like it if you dismiss his ways completely. But don’t bow on what you feel strongly on, either.”

Alys looks almost overwhelmed, so Eydis sighs and leans over her horse a bit. Alys frowns, but leans forward towards the Skag woman, only a few years older than her, but still unmarried and unmothered. She was still young, had scars from fighting off men who’d try to steal her. Alys had heard the stories of the men before camp the few nights before. And she’d seen the scars as they’d slept beside each other. Eydis knew this, because after that Alys had taken carefully to inspecting her scars. “My mother told me the only true way to control a man is to control his cock. Mouth, hands, cunt, all of it, will help you manipulate him.” Alys’ jaw drops and Eydis pulls away with a sigh. But it’s an acknowledging one.

“My mother told me that as she was pawing at me father. Trust me, I gave you the maid version.” She twists her face in disgust. “It’s arranged, which means no matter what, love comes after. But don’t fear too much. Wildling women kill their cruel husbands. So you’ll have some power in the bed.”

Alys lets her jaw drop even further. Eydis just smirks at her this time, and looks forward, to their King, a boy of only nine years, tall and wiry standing next to his wildling mother. His Direwolf stood next to him, too, taller than him.

She still wondered if this was the right thing to do, just as she was sure Alys was doing. But Eydis was risking herself, her men, and her family. Alys had already lost her father and brother, though her brother is still alive somehow. Probably forgotten by the bastard Kitten of a King in the South. Eydis had too, but it wasn’t to their previous King taking her father's head. Her’s died in youth, and her father not long ago. The ache was still there, and she didn’t think that it would ever ease. Just like Alys and her pain would never ease.

“Pretend to be strong, and eventually you’ll find one day you don’t have to pretend anymore, Alys.” Alys nods, and raises her jaw a bit, facing forward and patting her dying horse. They had little more than half a day's ride, before they made it to the camp. It had been a pain, to go so far around, but the last thing they needed was getting ambushed.

Fuck the Bolton bastard.

Fuck Smalljon Umber. Arnolf, and Cregan Karstark. 

They’d be dead, soon enough, if the Old Gods lead her true.

And so far, they had.

 

_ Lady Sansa Stark _

Sansa Stark could still feel the ache in her body. She could feel the stinging in her woman’s place when she walked too long, the bruises on her inner thigh and the bites on her back, chafing with her gait. But she held her chin high and she ignored all that he had done to her, standing with Jon, Ser Davos, Lady Lyanna, Tormund Giantsbane, and the new leader of the Thenn’s, Sigorn, as the Skag’s and traitor daughter brought her brother to her.

He rides a horse with ease, and leaps from it with ease too. He moves in jerky movements, like he’s still not quite sure how to move in his body yet. Part of Sansa cannot tell if he is real, or if this is a cruel trick to make her have more pain. She hoped not, she’d gone through enough of it to last a lifetime.

He’s nearly as tall as Jon and herself, skinny, though, big-boned, like he’ll be large. “Nine, y’said?” Tormund mutters under his breath in surprise. “E’ll be a big lad.” And then he gives a biting smile. Rickon is wearing red furs, and a long, thick cloak. While it may be no Stark cloak, the furs are from a wolf, she knows. And Shaggydog, bigger than even Ghost, moves to stand next to him, careful and ever watchful of those around him. But he does not cower, not one bit.

Sansa is the first to step forward, and whisper his name. “Rickon,” it comes out as a plea, and instantly the boy is bounding across the small distance. He collides with her, and she hisses in tears. It’s not pain, it’s longing, it’s misery, it’s happiness, and it’s thankfulness.

He buries his face in her neck, clutches at her like a child,  _ he is a child. _

Jon comes closer, and places a steadying hand on her back. He looks close to crying.

And when Rickon pulls away, it nearly tears her breath away.

_ Robb. Mother. Bran. Arya. Father. _

“We are so glad that you are safe,” Jon says roughly. Rickon grins.

“Osha, Kenna, and Eydis made sure I wa’.” And then he looks back. “Osha! Com’ere!” And the wildling woman, close to middle years steps forward, eyes flickering all over the encampment. But she bows her head. Her hair is a wild mane, like Rickons, her face with dirt, and she looks both afraid and very restrained, as she holds herself back up tall.

“Lady Sansa, Lord Jon,” her voice is low, rough but very careful and Shaggydog bumps her.

“And this is Eydis, Kenna’s older sister!”

“Lady Magnar,” Sansa says, as a woman taller than Sansa and Jon, but broader in the shoulders and hips than Sansa, dressed in boiled leather armor and chainmail steps forward. She’s not bulky like Brienne, or slender like Sansa. She wears leathers proudly, like a warrior rather than a lady and a blade at her side. It fits her well, but not too tight. They aren’t made like Brienne’s or even for the same purpose. She looks almost like a Wildling, had the Wildlings had more access to steel. She has a belt around her waist, on one side is her sword and sheath and the other is a blade with a white hilt that twists onto itself, in a point. For a moment Sansa wonders if it’s a Unicorn knife, but it’s tinted pink. 

She wears thinner furs than the shivering lady behind her, though they look like they may have switched cloaks, and hers is much too short. She stands like a man, too, relaxed with slanted shoulders as she leans on one leg more than the other. Her hair is deep auburn and reaches the middle of her back. Her face is pale, with dimples, and a long scar, from the corner of her mouth juts down her chin and neck and into her armor. Her hair is pulled back halfway across her  head in a mix of twists and braids, and the rest falling in braids and curls. Her face though: pretty, if not for the black soot painted across her forehead, her eyes and the tops of her cheeks. It makes her eyes, greyed green vibrant against the black. She looks more Wildling than Lady, Sansa decides finally. Arya would dress like her now, she thinks. When she opens her mouth, Sansa notices a gap between her two front teeth, but they’re white and straight. 

“Lady Stark, it is good to see you and Lord Snow well,” she says, words rolling together. She bows, rather than curtseys. “May I introduce you to Lady Alys Karstark,” she says calmly, turning and reaching out a hand. “The true heir to Karhold, who wishes to lay her allegiance to the King in the North, Rickon Stark, and back to House Stark.”

Alys steps forward and takes Eydis outstretched hand, and curtseys. Sansa feels a twist of rage and pity, for the dark haired gaunt, and obviously exhausted girl. “I am sorry I do not come with an army, like Lady Eydis, but the men that followed my father were stolen by my cousin, Cregan.” She says, eyes first staring at the ground, but she squares her shoulders and looks up. The furs are definitely not hers, she thinks. They’re too long, nearly touching the ground and they almost swim on her. But she buries herself in them, like they’re protection. Sansa understands that. “They tried to force me to marry him, and when I refused they threatened to rape me. They locked me away for a time, and when they took men to fight against you, I was able to escape. I was running North, to the wall to you and your brother, to the last remaining Starks, at that moment.” She clears her throat as she stumbles. “But King Rickon and Lady Eydis found me first.” She flickers a look to Eydis, and relaxes her shoulders. The girl has a simple prettiness, with light eyes, pale skin, and dark hair.

She lets go of Eydis’s hand and steps forward.  “So before the Old Gods, should they be watching. Before you, King Rickon, Lady Stark, and Lord Snow and all those who watch me hear now, I swear my fealty to House Stark. I swear to be loyal. And to do my best to bring as many Karstark men to our side. I do not know if my vow will help, but I make it regardless.” The girl, thin and little, bows her head with a fierceness that Sansa feels. And it is Rickon that grins.

“Aye, but you didn’t have to have so many words.”

There’s a stunned silence, but Alys is the one who breaks it with a small giggle, which draws Eydis into a snort, and laughter follows it from the Wildling and Mormont forces.

“Rickon!” Sansa hisses under her breath. 

“Thank you, your Grace.” Alys says with a more relaxed smile. She falls back into step with Lady Eydis, who gives Alys a slight nod.

“I’ve brought twelve hundred men. Unfortunately, with the lack of time, I could not bring more. The trek across the shivering sea gets more and more dangerous the closer we are to Winter.” Eydis explains calmly, and Sansa inspected the men behind her. They’re different, some more Northern, others more Wildling like, and other hairy, large, and some dark. They wear the green lobster and harpoon. But there isn’t the sigil of House Crowl or even the driftwood tree of House Stane.

“We’re thankful for the men you’ve brought, Lady Magnar.” Jon says to her. She gives a closed mouth smile at him and her eyes flicker around the group and Jon steps forward to introduce them. “This is Ser Davos Seaworth.” He says at first. She steps forward, and reaches out an arm to shake. Sansa can see the surprise reflected back to her from Jon, but Ser Davos smiles and takes her arm.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Magnar.”

“Just Eydis, Ser Davos and to all of you. Lady Magnar is my mother.” She says, before they shake and release their arms. Alys moves and does the same, with a small smile.

“Lady Karstark,” he says politely. 

“Alys as well, Ser Davos.” He smiles and bows his head a bit.

“Lady Lyanna Mormont,” Jon says. Eydis looks intrigued.

“I’ve always wanted to meet a woman from Bear Island. They say that you’re as fierce as your name indicates.” Eydis says. The height difference is almost comical, but somehow Lady Lyanna still makes it seem as if she was eye level with the taller woman.

Lady Lyanna nods. “We are.” Jon and Sansa struggle back a smile, but Tormund laughs, full-bellied and loud. 

“Lady Lyanna, it is a pleasure to meet you.” Alys says softly. Lady Lyanna nods.

“And you,” she says calmly. Eydis looks at her fondly before turning to the Wildlings.

“And the last of the Free Folk leaders, Tormund Giantsbane and Magnar Sigorn Thenn, of the Thenns.”

Eydis is the first to put an arm out to Tormund, and he smirks as he takes it. He’s staring at her with challenge, and Jon stiffens the moment he notices it. Eydis though, notices it immediately and doesn’t even look offended.

“Eydis Magnar,” he bates a bit. She raises a brow.

“Tormund Giantsbane,” she says equally challenging to the red haired and bearded Wildling. He’s large and imposing, but next to her he just looks like a normal sized man, if not a bit broad. Sansa and Jon flash each other a look, both holding their breath and not quite sure how to react or to wait. Ser Davos looks interested in their interaction. While Lady Lyanna had been open to conversation with the Free Folk, it was tense. The Northern Lords didn’t quite trust the Free Folk, but Eydis didn’t look to be bothered. Her eyes flicker down to his arm, to the gold arm bracelets in the Old Tongue. And she raises a brow at him when he’s still watching her reaction. His hand ecompasses her arm, and he holds her there longer than necessary, but she doesn’t shy away from him or show fear. She keeps her brow raised in question, unashamed. But he pulls away like he’s gotten what he wants after a moment and Alys reaches out an arm. He’s much gentler with her.

Eydis moves to Sigorn, who is her height, if not a fraction shorter. He is lean, hard faced and has a receding hairline. He takes her hand with surprising evenness and nods his head. Alys, though, like Tormund, he is gentler, if not a bit tender. Sansa is a bit surprised, at the hulking Wildling and the firm, steady and fierce looking wildling. Tormund was wild, loud, but honorable and respectable. Sigorn was fierce, like the rest of the Thenns. She was surprised to see men so fierce yet so kind and loyal. But maybe her time with Ramsay and her time in the South has ruined her for that.

She brushes Rickon’s hair back away from his face and smiles painfully at the pout he gives her. His hair is long like Jon’s, now. Though he leaves it down where Jon ties it back.

She had part of her family back. Bran and Arya were still...wherever they were. But she had Jon and Rickon, and for now, that was enough. If they survived the attack.


	2. Chapter Two

When War Comes

Chapter Two

 

_ Lady Eydis Magnar _

She could feel the eyes on her as she stared down at the map in distaste. 

“You don’t agree with the plan?” Jon Snow says. Her eyes flicker up, past him and to Lady Sansa.

“You’ve spent the most time with him, Lady Sansa. Could you provide some insight...into what type of man he is?” She asks her. The room goes silent and Rickon looks back at her in surprise. She lets her gaze flicker around the tent and Jon leans back with a frown. 

“A fuckin’ prick,” Tormund mutters under his breath. Eydis flashes him an amused look and Rickon snorts.

“He...he plays games. He...he turned Theon Greyjoy into a lapdog. ” Sansa says. Her voice is soft as she approaches the table. “Just...don’t do what he wants you to do. It’s all a game to him, and he’s always two steps ahead.” Eydis leans down over the map. She leans against her hands, eyes narrowed.

“What would you expect a force that is significantly smaller than yours to do?” She asks calmly. There’s a bit of silence, and she looks up brow raised.

Rickon looks a bit lost and turns to Jon.

“To make itself look bigger than it is,” Lady Lyanna says, rolling her eyes at the men who seem to be unsure of how to act or answer. Jon looks like he’s swallowed a lemon, Tormund looks confused, Sigorn looks like he’s trying to understand something in a different language (which he kind of is, she reminds herself.) So she switches to the Old Tongue for a moment.

He nods, suddenly and looks at Lady Lyanna. “Yes.”

Alys looks a bit surprised but takes it in stride which for the most part, Tormund, Jon, and Ser Davos do not.

“You speak the old tongue?” Jon asks. Rickon nods.

“Course she does. Everybody on Skagos speaks the Old and New tongue. Some Ilb, too.”

“They descend from the first men, Jon.” Sansa corrects and that seems to satisfy them. 

Eydis clears her throat. “Which means he’ll be expecting us to pretend that we have more men than we have.” She says calmly. “And we’d be playing right into his hands. He’ll expect us to try and unite our men, which means we’d be playing right into his hands. So no, I don’t agree with this plan. It’s a plan that we’d use if we were planning on fighting Smalljon Umber, Arnolf and Cregan Karstark. But Ramsay Snow isn’t them. He’s smarter than them.”

The room goes completely silent. And Rickon leans forward from the stool he’d been sitting on flashing a confused look.

She leans back crosses her arms over her chest. “My people are raiders, it’s why we’re hated like the Wil-Free Folk, sorry. We don’t know how to stand together and hold a line to fight as one unit. Neither do they. He’ll break us like Stannis broke the Free Folk and like the Skagosi of King Daeron II were broken.” She says calmly though the anxiety sets into the room. She translates the same to Sigorn who nods quickly, though begrudgingly.

“Thenns can,” Sigorn says roughly. “But only three hundred men, compared to three thousand.” He says in reference to the fighting force as a whole. Jon sighs, and nods. 

Ser Davos looks at her and she stares back at him. “But we can play on their confidence, and their arrogance.” 

Tormund and Sigorn stare at her openly, but Ser Davos shifts forward. “How would you propose we do that?” He asks.

“You want us to spread out far along the treeline, make us look larger than we are. Instead  we use our men to do that  but not all of them. Like we attempted too  but didn’t have enough men.  We have men ready in the woods,” she says  pulling pieces over and into the woods. “If he sees we have enough men to put up a fight  he’ll find a way to get us to attack. But if he sees we are smaller than expected…” She reaches over and pulls the Bolton flag and drags it down. “He’ll have his men attack us. You’re right  Ser Davos  we need to be on the defensive, we can’t attack. We’ll be slaughtered.” She explains slowly, translating bits and pieces to Sigorn, who leans in more interestedly. Tormund frowns though.

“You want us to hide?” She nods.

“If we can drag them into the woods  my men and yours can pick them off. Our weakness lies in fighting as one  theirs lies in fighting divided. What we really need...is a way to pin them on both sides. They’ll leave Archers in the back  left unprotected.”

Jon twists his nose in disagreement. “We don’t have enough men for that.”

“Necessarily, we wouldn’t need a lot of men for that.” she says easily. “We create a distraction, big, we divert attention  and we hit them hard in a way they don’t expect. We can’t win on numbers. We won’t. We need to think ahead of them.” Ser Davos nods, moving to sit as he watches the map  as if he were imagining the battle before him. 

“The Giant,” Alys says softly, stepping forward. “Does he have armor? If we strap some armor to him  he could be that distraction.” Sigorn turns to her, appraisingly for a moment.

“He’s too big. We don’t ‘ave armor big enough.” He says. 

She frowns. “Boiled leather? Surely there is no shortage of bears and forest cats around here.” Sansa steps forward. 

“We could piece together armor  for his middle mostly.” Sansa says, as if the frustration of the battle plan had seeped away from her. “But a weapon, will surely be more difficult to come by.”

“No,” Tormund says with a shrug. “Hand ‘im a tree an’ he’s good.” 

“Hunters picked off two bears the other night,” Jon says quietly. “We can begin piecing together whatever we have left of boiled leather and make him what we can.”

“I will help,” Alys says. Sansa raises her chin a bit.

“We can do it together.” And then Sansa flickers a look to Eydis  who lets out a nervous laugh. She raises her hands up.

“Never been good with a needle, Lady Sansa. I don’t think any woman in my family is.” Rickon snorts.

“Kenna sure isn’t.” 

Eydis flashes him an agreeing look for a moment. 

The tent flap swings open  and Jon stands sharply with Rickon.  

“Lord Reed, Lord Howland Reed just arrived in camp  with men.” A Mormont soldier says  looking both confused and flustered.

Eydis turns to Jon. “Were you expecting him?” She asks.

“No,” Sansa says quietly. “We weren’t.”

 

_ Lady Alys Karstark _

When Alys was a little girl, her father had tried to marry her to Robb Stark. The same man that had taken his head. Her brother was a prisoner to the Southron Crown. The only friend she had now  was a Skag woman. One that painted her face  who fought like a warrior  but held the title of lady. She was glad for her  though.

The moment that Alys had stumbled into their men  through blinding winds, half conscious, Eydis had protected her. Eydis had given her the cloak she wore  had given her advice  had helped protect her from her fathers men who searched for her by Cregan’s hand.

But she found herself sorely out of place  by a Warrior lady, Wildling Lord, Wildling leader, a little girl fierce as a bear, Lady Stark, hard and cold as ice and as beautiful as a winter storm, and Jon Snow, just as solemn, if not more than he had been all those years ago when she’d danced with him.

Their King was a little boy, one strong, hard-headed, but impulsive. Lady Stark would have to curb the wolf and wildling in his blood.

The North she had grown to know as true was changing. She was siding with the family that killed her father, but not the one who threatened to force her with child.

_ Pretend to be strong, and one day you won’t have too. _

She hoped that Eydis was right.

Lord Reed is a short man  shorter than Eydis, Jon and Sansa, but as tall as Rickon, and only a few inches taller than her. He is strongly built  not an unhandsome man  though there is grey in his beard. 

He is a somber looking man  as well. And with him is a thousand men  all small like him.

Eydis and Ser Davos’ brains are already working  as they mutter together  hunched over the map switching easily from the Old tongue to common with Sigorn and Tormund. Tormund  the red-haired Wildling watches half interested, and the half part is mostly in Eydis. She’s probably at least ten years younger, but it isn’t a leer. He seems genuinely impressed by her. Sigorn looks much more relaxed now, than the tenseness that he had settled into. Jon and Lord Reed talk quietly, going over the logistics of his men and what they’ll need.

The plan changes  though Sansa and Alys sit in the corner  sewing as quickly  but as right as they can. Eydis isn’t the first born  but she is the oldest now. She looks like she was born for this  easily explaining things to both Tormund and Sigorn  who seems to be catching on better and better now that she is translating. Ser Davos compliments her with pointing out limitations and strategies to fix them  and Howland Reed mumbles his assent and limitations: he only has a thousand men. But that is a thousand more men than they thought and a thousand more than Ramsay thinks they have.

“You sew well, Lady Alys.” Sansa says quietly  and Alys wants to laugh  because Sansa Stark sews better with eyes closed than she does on her best day.

“Not as well as you  I’m afraid  Lady Stark.”

Sansa looks at Alys  like a lady does. It’s assessing, cold, calculating. And then she looks past Alys and at the table  like she’s deciding on something. She’s set forward  suddenly and she turns to Alys.

“The North is changing  isn’t it, Lady Alys?” It’s not a question  maybe half an observation and half an accusation. 

“It is.” She admits  looking pointedly down at her sewing.

“And so we must change with it.” Her voice is smooth and even. “Winter is coming.” Alys looks up  to Sansa  but Sansa is looking over to the table  towards Sigorn. Her chest tightens.

_ Pretend to be strong, and one day you won’t have to pretend anymore. _

“Yes, Lady Stark. We must.”

She’d be strong. She would: Alys had suffered through her father and brothers leaving. She had suffered through her mother's death  her brothers capture  and her father's death. She’d suffered through her betrothals too  and she’d suffered through Cregan and Arnolf. She had suffered  but she wouldn’t suffer anymore.

She’d survive. Kicking, screaming, she would. Sigorn would want a fighter, and Alys was too tired of not being one.

She’d find the strength she had when she ran out of Karhold in the middle of the night  before the storm. She’d find the strength she had to keep moving forward. She’d find it until she didn’t have to find it anymore.

But she’d be strong.

She was a woman of the North  the cold didn’t bother her. She could deal with a Wildling for a husband  if it meant she had a choice. If it meant that she had her home  that she wasn’t raped every night by a man she’d known since birth. A man who was on his third wife  no less.

She was a woman of the North. She wouldn’t just survive the winter.

She’d thrive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did anyone else feel like the Free Folk and Wun Wun were under utilized in the BoB? Because I sure did.


	3. Chapter Three

When War Comes

Chapter Three

_The Wolf of the Riverlands_

By day  the wolf sleeps deep under a tree stump. She sleeps with three other wolves  all three her babes. They’re smaller than she had been  but they weren’t just direwolves. They were wolves too  not too many this far from the wall.

By day  she sleeps and sleeps  recovering.

And by night  she rises  and three hundred wolves rise with her.

She slips back  from her mind  and lets her little girl take over.

And she kills men that wronged that little girl.

They say that the Wolf of the Riverlands howls all through the night  but that’s not true. Her pack does  ever growing. The Wolf of the Riverlands is silent  through it all. And the last thing they ever see is her face before she kills them.

But it isn’t the Wolf of the Riverlands that killed Walder Frey. It is her little girl.

He ate his sons  too  her little girl had seen an older man  fat  broad  and jovial feed Walder Frey his own sons. The Wolf of the Riverlands wasn’t quite sure who this man was but she had approached him and she had revealed her true face.

The fat man had fallen to his knees and begged forgiveness.

She had taken it  with a price.

“ _The Starks,”_ her little girl had whispered, _“are back.”_

And the Wolf of the Riverlands left her den and Marched North: where her blood had cried for, where her family came from. She didn’t know why they chose to march North but she wouldn’t leave her little girl this time. Not again.

 

_Lady Brienne of Tarth_

The Blackfish was a man of great honor but also great bluntness and stubbornness. It had taken her spar after spar with him verbally before he agreed that this girl was Sansa his great niece and not some pretender set forth on the woman who wore Lannister armor.

 _She has a woman’s strength  like Lady Catelyn. But she is deeply affected by what has been done to her. She will not rest until Winterfell belongs to a Stark again._ It had broken him  that Sansa was like her. He had relented and taken what was left of his men North.

 _“He may laugh now,”_ the Blackfish had said about Walder Frey, _“But if your words are true  Sansa Stark will take the vengeance Cat should have had herself.”_

She had seen Jamie  as well. But that...that had been tense. But she had done as she had said she would. And he had held his end of the deal. The last of the Tully men were marching North  for Winterfell.

The winds had gotten harder  whipping and knocking trees over. The snow has begun to pile  pile so high her feet sink down several inches. Feet in front of her and Brienne couldn’t see a damn thing. She wondered  if this was her curse  just like the Blackfish.

 _No_ , she thinks, she found Sansa. _Or maybe she had led her to the slaughter?_

Pod had fallen more than once  and the Horses were struggling.

The storm has set them back  and Brienne finds herself wondering if this had been worth it  if she had done more for her lady away from her or what the difference she could have made in battle. She can see the begrudging sense of urgency in the Blackfish as he forces them Northward.

But she can see in Pod’s eyes what she feels in her own.

They wouldn’t make it in time.

 

_Lady Eydis Magnar_

Tormund Giantsbane flickers a look at her. She can feel his eyes on her  but she can also feel Ser Davos’s eyes too. But Tormund was a man that she was familiar with. Her grandfather was like him  too. _What was that family curse again, grandfather?_

“Shaggywolf will lead Howland Reed through the tunnels. Their men will be small enough to navigate through unseen. They’ll pin the archers from the back  and overwhelm Winterfell.” She says calmly. Ser Davos nods and leans forward.

“You will lead your men  alongside Tormund, Jon, Sigorn, and myself, to the frontlines. From there  we will draw back into the forest  drawing the men back too.” He moves their positions on the map through the forest.

“And then we kill the bloody fuckers.” Tormund says  standing up straight with a shrug. He crosses his arms and a flicker of a smile ghosts over Eydis’s lips.

“We draw them back for a time, but the key is regaining the ground, Tormund Giantsbane.” She guides easily, pushing the numbers back. “Surprise  will be the name of this game.” He rolls his eyes.

“Southerners,” he mutters, and then narrows his red brows. “Where did Sigorn go?” Ser Davos leans back and flickers a look to Eydis.

“To make an alliance of houses. And to piss off a few more Lords.” She says with a snort. Ser Davos raised a brow.

“You disapprove?”

“Of what?” Tormund asks  still lost.

She sighs. “I don’t care who she marries  so long as she’s safe.” Tormund narrows his eyes.

“She and Sigorn? Alys  you mean? The...soft one?” She turns and raises a brow to him.

“Soft spoken, mayhaps.” She defends without heat. “She ran away from a man who had already killed three wives: children too young to bear the sons he forced on them. But then again  the only reason they waited as long as they did to try and marry her was so they could get a boy or two from her.” She leans over the table and grabs the cup of water she’d been sipping on the entire day. “Alys is strong. She ran head first into a storm to protect herself and her people from her cousin. But she was limited by her father  and the archaic way of this land. She’s not like me  or like your women  but she isn’t soft.” She turns to face him, quite openly. “She faced a storm with little clothing  a future with a wildling man that her entire life she’s been told she should fear  and she chose it. Because she knew what she faced if she didn’t.”

There’s a silence that stumbles over the tent and she smiles at the men, almost gently. “I was ten and two when the first man tried to steal me. You see this world isn’t kind to little girls and women. But women like Alys  I admire. Women like Sansa Stark: women who their entire lives have been bred for a certain life  a life of oppression  yet beat back the men with the very same system that oppresses them. But you two are men  and you, Tormund, are a Free Man with Free Women. You’ll see soon enough that while they may claim you are behind, you are ahead too.” Ser Davos looks down at Eydis, and lets out a slow nod.

“But change is coming,” he says evenly. She snorts suddenly  breaking him from their train of thought. Tormund scratches his chin  as if he was considering it, and didn’t look quite as thrown off as Ser Davos.

“And so is Winter, Ser Davos.”

“Fuckin Southerners,” Tormund says, throwing himself down on a chair. “Too complicated.” She rolls her eyes and looks at Ser Davos. The red haired Wildling had no idea what was in his future. She knew  that it was an honor  one that he would loath. He wasn’t a kneeler  but he also saw that Rickon Stark knew the Free Folk. He’d been raised by one and spent most of his life on Skagos  under protection. He didn’t expect them to give up all of their ways. But that didn’t mean that seeing Tormund ‘honored’ as Sansa put it  wouldn’t be humorous.

“Should I tell him, or you?” Ser Davos lets out a low, bone chattering sigh.

“Tell me what?” Tormund asks, with a twisting face. She flashes a look at him, studying his freckled skin, long, straight nose, and light eyes. He was handsome enough, though his goofy and downright disregard for mainlander ways was what made him easy to be around for her, and she tries to imagine his reaction. She doesn’t know him well enough  she thinks  because none of the ways she imagines it seems right. She she smirks and then back to Ser Davos.

“You don’t want to know  Tormund, trust me. I doubt you’ll enjoy the surprise.” Tormund looks like he wants to argue, but instead he sinks back into his chair with a sigh. He was huge, like the men she’d grown up with. Broad, strong, and tall. But he was quick, deceivingly so, and while he was confident he wasn’t arrogant like so many men she knew. He enjoyed being bested by those he was fond of.

“Surprises are meant to be fun.” He pouts a bit like a child.

She smiles but looks back down at the map.

Gods be good, this battle will be over. But she knows of the wars to come, and they seem to weigh her down.

 

Alys approaches her with heavy feet, but her face is even without any hint of fear. She is serene, as she approaches Eydis, but Eydis is careful to watch her for any sort of reaction.

“I’m to marry Magnar Sigorn of Thenn.” Eydis gives a short nod. She looks over to the man who approaches Tormund stiffly. Tormund’s smirking though and Sigorn looks back at Alys. And she sees it: fear, uncertainty, and she almost smiles.

“He’s afraid of you,” she says to Alys. Alys looks up, straight at Eydis, and then to Sigorn. She steels herself, and smiles. His gaze flickers, but he won't turn away from her either.

“Let him be afraid of me.” Sigorn gives a jerking nod and turns away, and Tormund pulls him into a clapping hug, laughing loud enough to scare a nearby horse.

Gone was the frightened girl that she had found in the woods  running from her monster of a cousin. Before her was a Lady. A Lady who had learned to turn the system used to prevent her, to usurp the cruelty of her cousin. And Eydis was glad.

Eydis tries not to laugh when Tormund claps Sigorn on the back sharply with a jovial laugh, and Alys hooks an arm through the taller girls. “Lets get some food  before you tell me of the plan.” Alys says. Eydis nods, and walks easily with the girl towards the food tent. “And you will tell me that you are going to survive  my dear friend.”

Eydis takes her loved hand and squeezes. “The Gods still have use for me yet  Alys.” Alys smiles.

“Yes  I think they do. But still  I would like your word.”

Eydis grins. “Well then  Lady Alys Karstark  of Karhold, soon to be wife and Lady of the Thenns, I swear that I will return. Alive. Our friendship will not end here.” The girl relaxes, and gives a soft smile.

“I am glad, Eydis.”

 

_Lord Wyman Manderly_

Call him twisted, but he had not felt an ounce of pity as he served Walder Frey his own son. In fact, he felt a twisted amount of relief. This was the man who had killed his King  his Queen  their unborn child  and Lady Stark. This was the man who killed his son  so he had taken his revenge.

The North Remembers, Wylla and Wynafryd had screamed at him as he spoke of their engagements.

“Aye, and this is all a part of the plan, brave girls,” he had consoled  desperately. Just a little longer  he had begged them. Wynafryd  older of his granddaughters had understand  always the Lady. Wylla though  green haired and wild hadn’t. But Wynafryd had managed to quiet her yells and kicks and her screams to silence. A furious glare  of course.

“We owe the Starks a debt!” She had yelled, “and you trample on our honor! Our houses Honor, treating with these craven chin-less twats!”

His granddaughter surely was a woman of the North  fierce with fury as sharp as ice.

She was the one who found _Nan_.

She found Arya Stark  a girl who looked terrifyingly like Lyanna Stark, with beauty and fury all twisted into one. But where Lyanna Stark was ice and softness, this girl was hard edge.

“I know you fed them their own sons.” She had said before Wynafryd and Wylla. Both girls looked scandalized, then gleeful, for they understood.

“I lost my own son,” he says  before her on his knee. “Just like you lost a brother  your mother  and your brothers wife and unborn child. The North Remembers. Your sister is North, as is your brother Jon Snow, and we have heard stories of Rickon Stark on Skagos. Please, Lady Stark, I will raise my arms and send them to Winterfell. Come with me, and I will bring you home.”

The girl, little and skinny, but beautiful under the scraps of clothing and dirt she had pushed over her face narrows her eyes sharply, and takes a terrifying step forward.

“I will kill Walder Frey,” she says sharply. “And then we will march North to Sansa.”

Wylla is the first to speak.

“Yes, Lady Stark.” She bows  and so does Wynafryd.

“We have oaths to keep ” Wynafryd says.

 _My brave little women,_ he thinks. _My brave little Northern Ladies._

 

_Lord Jon Snow_

_“I’ll tell you about your mother,”_ Ned Stark had promised. A broken promise. But what was a promise broken by Lions? Especially compared to the promise he had kept for Lyanna Stark  all while facing the hate of his wife, the dishonor of raising a bastard boy, and the dishonor knowing that he raised a bastard Dragon as a bastard wolf, right under his best friend's nose?

Jon Snow wasn’t Jon Snow. he was Jon Sand.

“Aemon Targaryen,” Howland Reed says quietly. “Your parents loved each other, at first. She was running from Robert Baratheon  from a fate she didn’t want. You are legitimate, Jon, they married before several members of the Kingsguard before a Heart Tree. They would have left you for Viserys, had you not been legitimate.” His voice is soft  and Sansa looks as if she wants to sob, to fall apart before him. “If Aerys hadn’t been mad...it could have been different. Your mother was a good woman  but Ned was blind for her hatred of Robert. He was controlling, and he taunted her. Told her no Lady should spend her days on horses. That when she married him, her days would be spent in bed with him or doing other Lady things. Lyanna wanted to be free.”

Jon knew Aemon Targaryen, the maester who helped him become a man.

_What a sad thing, a Targaryen alone in the World._

He hadn’t been alone. But Jon had: Jon was the man he was because of Ned Stark, his father  and now he wasn’t Ned Starks son. He wasn’t who he thought he was. _King’s blood is strong._

He stands, hands shaking. “It doesn’t matter now. Rickon and Sansa are the faces of House Stark. And I’ll die to protect that.” Sansa lets out a quiet sob as he storms out of the tent  leaving it all behind, leaving all of it behind.

He left behind Rhaegar Targaryen, Lyanna Stark, and Ned Stark. They were all dead. And now  all he had was Sansa and Rickon.

It ached, but it ached less to think of them rather than the man who had been his father and wasn’t, and the woman who had been his aunt and wasn’t, and the man who had been his aunts captor and wasn’t.

He had a war to fight.

He didn’t want to think of what was and wasn’t. He just wanted Sansa and Rickon safe.


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Displays of Violence. I don't think I got too much into it, but just a warning for people.

When War Comes

Chapter Four

_ Lady Sansa Stark _

She hadn’t called Petyr. She prayed that the decision was right  and she prayed that it would not come back to hurt her. She didn’t know if Brienne had managed to secure the Tully army  but she prayed that they did. Her heart was in her stomach  But she stood far off from the battle, Alys by her side, and Rickon, too. He was being placated by Osha.

She was struggling to connect with Rickon, so wild and so young. He didn’t remember anything other than their faces. But he felt their loss  too  which was cruel and bitter. A part of her was jealous that he couldn’t remember it. While other parts of her were angry that the world could do this to someone so young.

“You have to protect your sister, and Lady Alys, and Lady Lyanna, should it call for it.”  Rickon glared, but leaned against the horse, and watched. He was impatient in the way that Starks were, impatient like Brandon Stark and Lyanna Stark. Like Arya and Robb. She closes her eyes for a moment and she tries to forget about Lyanna Stark. A part of her hates her, and another part of her pities her. Forced to marry someone she hated  and she ran for it. Rickard Stark should have known  he should have, that the blood of the Wolf ran too deep. When she opens her eyes, she scans across the battlefield. Their men look tiny, in numbers, compared to Ramsay’s. And she shudders in a deep breath.  _ It was apart of the plan, Sansa, _ she tells herself. 

Alys’s hands were shaking. Shaking, and she was struggling to be strong. So was Sansa.

It is Sansa that reaches over  and takes her hand. Alys flickers a look of surprise, and together they nod. 

They both know the fear they feel. They both know what is at stake. 

 

_ Lady Eydis Magnar _

She’d fought before. She even fought well. Fought off suitors and men who’d try’d to hurt others. She’s killed before  too. Killed more than she can count. Skagos was...a difficult place. Harsh in ways that people can’t imagine. And their ways could be harsh. But there was a reason for that.

It made her strong. The constant training made her strong. The nights in the woods made her strong. Praying to her Gods made her strong. Fighting off cruel men made her strong. She would survive this battle.

She’d see Alys again, her brother, her sister, and her mother. She’d se grandfather again and cousin Magnus. She’d see them again.

So she tood with the Mormonts, the Hornwoods, and Wildling and her men. She would feel better fighting with more men, but their plan was sound. As sound as it could be of course.

Beside her, Tormund rose from the knee he’d taken as he watched the men before them. He stood at full height, a head above hers.

“Do you think we’ll win?” His voice is rough, rolling together. It’s quiet too.

“We don’t have a choice, Tormund.” The man nods, and scratches his beard.  The Free Folk would die if they lost. Her men would die if they lose. The North would remain divided: easy pickings for the dead that loomed beyond the wall. 

“They ain’t touchin me daughters.” His voice is rough and angry  and she turns to him, a bit surprised.

“Daughters?” She asks before she can stop herself. He nods, and his mouth twists into a fond smile.

“Gyda and Munda. Ten and one and seven.” His hand goes to his sword, and tightens. 

“We’ll win,” she tells him, turning to face forward again. “The North has bled enough.” He frowns and lets out a quiet noise. “I don’t even know how you’re standing, considering how piss drunk you got last night.” He grins, suddenly.

“One of me many titles  don’t you know? Tale Teller, Mead King of Ruddy Hall, Husband to Bears, and Horn-blower.” She raised a sharp brow.

“Husband to bears?” He grins  and then winks at her. 

“Don’t get him started,” Sigorn says roughly. “He’ll never stop.” She smiles at the man  and nods. 

“After we get through this alive, Tormund, you can tell me your tales.” He grins.

“All of ‘em, that would take a week, at least.” She snorts  and the anxiety that had settled in her belly is eased.

“Well, I suppose we’ll have to cut a few out.” She admits, and Tormund flashes her a fond smile, and Ser Davos turns back. 

“Ready yourselves!” He calls out  and a war horn is sounded. 

Swords  she hears hundreds of them being drawn  and they all ignore the urge to turn back and warn the men in the forest. Wun Wun  wearing armor pieced together by Sansa and Alys, hides in the forest too  with a medium sized tree in his hands. He was shy and fierce  she knew  and had blushed when given his armor. Alys and Sansa had both smiled sweetly when they gave it to him.

“Why aren’t you married yet  Lass?” Tormund asks her. She’s thrown off for a moment, and raises a brow  but doesn’t look to him, as the Bolton, Karstark, and Umber men ready for the assault.

“Haven’t met anyone who's managed to steal me  or deserve me.” He snorts.

“No one’ll deserve you Lass  you’re a special kind of woman. Strong, smart, and beautiful. Fierce and loyal, and kind.” She flashes him a surprised look  but his face is serious, forward, and no lick of joking in his words. “You just needa’ man who knows that.” 

She remembers how Grandfather used to look at Grandmother  and how her wild mother was looked at by her father. She wonders  idly  if perhaps that was what she wanted all along  and that was why she had turned down decent men. Her father had been upset  but her mother had always slapped him down.  _ You won’t spend your days with him  what choice in this should you have?  _ She wanted what was rare  but what her family had.

“When this is over  Lass  I’ll show you.” There’s sureness in his tone  one that both strikes her as odd but also as a challenge. So she smiles.

“You’re free to try  Tormund Giantsbane.”

He smirks, and Sigorn looks back at them with a raised brow, before shaking his head and switching to the Old Tongue. “ _ We’re about to face an army  and you two speak of stealing.” _ She smothers a laugh  and her chest tightens as a hundred horses  and an entire fleet run towards her.

A part of her wants to piss herself  and the men behind her get antsy.

“Hold!” She yells with Jon, Ser Davos, Tormund, and Sigorn.

Hold  she urges  hold and let them get too far. Let them pass the trenches. Let them lose their horses and let them be drawn into the woods.

“Notch!” Davos orders the archers.

They get closer and closer  and then they hit the first row of trenches.

Half of the horses fall  crushed  and their men are catapulted across the ground  some twisting in strange positions, and a few don’t get up. The terrible screaming of pain has started ringing through her like a bell. The second row of trenches take down more horses  and the third takes the rest of them out.

“Release!” He screams  voice echoing hard against the men. Arrows fly  and they hit. She sees men fall  and he orders another notch and release. Men fall again. He repeats this order two times  but it doesn’t seem like there’s much of a difference. There are still thousands of men running at them  thousands of men to kill and thousands of men to survive. 

_ When war comes, _ her father had once told her, _ you’ll find that times slows. It changes you. Anyone who wishes to join a war looking for honor will find none. Honor is a pretty bow on shit, blood, vomit, disease, and pain. Mainlanders use it to excuse the viciousness they’ve seen. But it will never leave you Eydis. And that’s a good thing  because once you truly know war, you’ll know what’s worth going to war for. Not petty shit, but real, hard reasons. Like a Mad King. _

_ What about humanity, father? Because this Bolton Bastard won’t lead the North through another Long Night.  _

She doesn’t know how she holds her sword  or how she manages to keep her voice even as she yells out orders. She doesn’t know how she manages not to faint at the sight. But they hold. They hold until the men have gotten too close.

Sword into body, well, she’s always felt it collide. But today  she doesn’t feel the grating of sword against bone. She doesn’t feel the skin cave at the strength of her swing. She just fights. Her vision is red, grey, brown, and black with blood, dirt, shit, and death. 

She lets herself be pushed back into the woods  manages not to fall on her ass like some of the other men. She holds onto the steel that has formed in her belly  clearing the anxiety from her and she fight  she fights harder than she did at ten and two. Harder than at ten and six  and harder than she thinks she ever thought herself capable of fighting.

She lets herself be pushed back farther and farther into the woods. Long and far enough to draw as many men into the woods as possible  before suddenly the forest comes to life with Wildling and Skag men and women. It isn’t easy to turn the tide  and she cuts down more men than she can count. One after another  until all she knows is killing  all she knows is cutting and killing and fighting. She sees and hears Sigorn fighting ruthlessly, but she doesn't see Tormund. She ignores the dread and focuses on what's before her.  _Getting side-tracked gets you killed._

She ducks as a sword lunges her way  kicks out and shatters a leg  if the scream that rips from the man is true  and slices hard and true across his front. The man gurgles blood, and she puts her sword through his throat. Then she moves onto the next one  moving forward.

She hears and feels the shuddering of the earth as Wun Wun runs forward  and she can see the light pearing  as she reaches the edge of the woods again. Jon  who appears beside her is covered in blood and wild eyed.

“Forward!” And they do erupt from the forest  screaming. There are still thousands of men  but Wun Wun erupts from the forest  swinging his tree like a goddamned war hammer and takes out twenty men at one time.

She hears war horns  multiple sets  at first she thinks it's the Boltons  until men from both sides of the field storm into sight  cornering both the Bolton army and them appear. Hundreds of horses on either side  with two house sigils.

Tully and Manderly flags. She turns to Jon  who looks mad with surprise and relief. And she hears howls: hundreds of them.

“The North Remembers,” she tells him  and he nods to her  chest rising and falling in quick succession, and then she sprints forward with the rest of the men. She collides  sword parrying and then stabbing  and then she’s onto the next body.

Time does stop  she thinks. Time stops and crashes together all at once. Because when the fighting is over  she wonders if days have passed or maybe only minutes?

She stares up  at the sky   but only clouds meet her. White above her  clear  with no darkness. But when she looks down all she sees is blood and shit. She sees bodies  spewing liquids she can’t identify  groaning and pleading with the Gods  Old, New, and undiscovered. It is difficult to step where there is not dead, or dying  and the smells make her want to vomit.

She walks  slowly and carefully to Winterfell.

This is what she had seen, from the raven with three eyes, when he had settled on her Heart Tree.

Her Gods had led her true.

She meets Ser Davos halfway to Winterfell, the Onion Knight looking haggard and covered in blood. He’s limping  and she reaches out an arm. He eyes her tiredly  like he wants to refuse  but doesn’t.

She hooks her arm under his cloak  and he wraps an arm around her shoulder. His weight drags her down  brings her back to reality  and reminds her that she’s not just a tool for killing  at the moment.

How could people idealize this? She wondered quietly.

How many eyes had she witnessed die?

And it was only the beginning.


End file.
